Tuesday, 11 March 2014

Tuesday, March 11, 2014 -

Treasured Memories of a Disciplined Wife

by Abigail Armani
Published: Jan 16, 2014
Words: 19,619
Category: romance
Orientation: M/F
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Chapter 1: A Meeting on the Beach

Daisy smiled at the nurse who plumped up her pillows and handed her the photograph album.

"There you go, Daisy. You spend many an hour with that photograph album - happy memories?"

"Thank you, dear. Oh yes - very happy memories. I never tire of looking at the old photos. How quickly the years pass."

"That's so true," agreed the nurse. "And is there a photograph of you somewhere in there?"

"Several. I was quite a looker in my day you know," laughed Daisy. "Would you like to see?"

"I certainly would."

The nurse drew up a chair and sat by the old lady's bed. Daisy gripped the album tightly with her gnarled hands, and opened the first page.

"This is me in 1948 when I was twenty. Goodness me - I had a waist in those days!"

The nurse scanned the photograph. It showed an attractive and smiling young woman standing on the sand in a red swimsuit. Her long dark hair was worn in a thick braid and hung over her shoulder. It was so long it reached past her waist, and the end of the braid was tied with a jaunty red ribbon. "Oh - you look stunning! Really pretty... and what gorgeous hair. Where was this taken?"

"On Brighton beach. That's where I met Frank."



Frank. Daisy's weak blue eyes misted over at the memory of that long hot summer day in August. The beach was crowded with holiday makers and day trippers. A happy hubbub of voices was carried on the breeze. Adults and children alike splashed in the white-crested surf, ran on the damp sand, made sandcastles, or sprawled leisurely on deck chairs or beach towels.

On that day, Daisy was helping old Joe out with the donkey rides. She took hold of the jingling bridle of Boris, and led him along the beach, accompanied by the delighted squeals of the other riders following in a little procession. It was on the return lap when Boris misbehaved. He slowed right down to a crawl and would not go any faster despite Daisy pulling and tugging him. Ever afterwards, Daisy would swear that the old donkey knew exactly what he was doing. He stopped right next to the prone figure of a man sunbathing - and then, with a devilishly triumphant light in his eyes, he pooped noisily.

Splat! Splat! Splat!

"Aaaaargh!" cried the man, sitting up. "What the devil...?"

He stared in abject horror at the pile of steaming donkey turds that covered his feet, and reacted by kicking away the offending odorous lumps. His face turned red with anger, and a vein bulged dangerously at his temple.

The little boy riding on Boris shrieked with glee and pointed to the mishap.

"Bad Boris," admonished Daisy, her mouth twitching. "Bad, bad Boris." She giggled, snorted, then bellowed with laughter. It was very rude of her of course, but she just couldn't help it.